I stare out the front window, squatting like a small child or our most peculiar cat, waiting for nothing. If our truck were still in the driveway I might go buy potato chips, just because. If… we hadn't sold the Silverado in April. Our cupboards aren’t bare, but all our food requires preparation, and I’m more bored than hungry, the kind of boredom I like: a quiet that waits for me to remember. I'd bike downtown if the world outside weren't wet.
A few red and yellow leaves, curled at the edges, float on our front walk. “Autumn is coming,” they whisper. Sparkly strands of water stream down from the roof beneath a moving grey sky, and everything green shines in the muted afternoon light. Our cul-de-sac is enchanted.
*****
My personal blog went missing for a few weeks. I kept calm, but I really didn’t want to lose whatever history is written there. It came back to life last night. Sitting at the kitchen table earlier today, wondering what to do generally since there were no pressing tasks, I decided to look up the very first entry. I had no idea my blog is nine years old, almost the same age as my younger son.
In between a lot of other words, I read, “M started running and as he does, he emits little breathy sounds of enjoyment. D is teaching himself how to read on his "three letter thing" and is studying three letter words everywhere we go and thinking of possible three letter words all the time. Yesterday he started asking about the spelling of longer words.”
And right now, as I type these words? D’s baking himself flat bread and M is creating characters for a D & D adventure. It’s true, time’s a trick of light and shadow. When I say “just yesterday” I mean it literally, for hours lived more than a decade ago. It all happens at the same time.
I read the first few blog entries, each several months apart. I loved reading other people’s accounts of their children's doings, family life, new learning—it made me feel less alone back then—but I couldn’t be so public; it felt naked and dangerous. When I did finally start blogging regularly, in 2009, I shared insights and poems rather than journal-like entries.
*****
The rain ended hours ago, the sun set and night rose, but I’m still in the afternoon storm’s quiet bubble, wondering what to do next, happy for it to be nothing particularly productive. Chocolate, our couch, the Kindle, a pillow and a blanket will likely be key elements. Yes, that sounds lovely.